


Infinity Wore Us Down

by delibell



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Amnesia, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Happy?? Ending, He may or may not have a soft stop for you, Hospitalization, Humour, Infinity War, Loki is in love but he won't admit it, Nurses, OH GET READY TO CRY, Possible superhero!reader??, Romance, Slow Burn, TAKES PLACE D U R I N G IW, You are Dr Strange's apprentace, hospital madness, i will edit these tags as i go, slightly AU, this series is silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-27 07:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delibell/pseuds/delibell
Summary: (PREVIOUSLY CALLED FOREST NYMPH)There was a forest nymph in Asgard that Loki had stumbled upon singing her songs and reading her poetry and he fell in love instantly. If an instant lasted a few years, that is, but, there was something odd about her. He returned to the forest one day and–Woke up. In Midgard. In a hospital. And the nymph he had been dreaming about turned out to be his nurse.





	1. fall from grace

Loki swore he heard music playing as he once again entered the forest with a sort of quick step that only showed his anticipation to onlookers, if there were any. There weren’t. Only butterflies and insects and their black beady eyes trailed after him, faraway laugher of water nymphs echoed all the way from the lake, which was quite far. He was only interested in one nymph, one that lived in a great big oak that was as sturdy as Asgardian armour and as tall as the grand castle itself. There were wines dotted with flowers of varying shapes and sizes, grass that reached his torso and small creatures that sneered at him as they saw him approach. Hot. Summer. There was no breeze so deep in the forest. Its scent was dizzying and if he had not used magic to cool himself and to stop the intoxicating smells he would surely faint. No man had ever dared to trespass your territory. No man had stayed conscious long enough to reach the great oak.

And that was only partly why he enjoyed your company so much. That he was the first to set eyes on you, the first to speak your name, the first to receive your undying attention and affection. It was nice. Quite unbearably so and he wished for nothing more than for you to parish for making him feel this way. Yet the thought of your demise upset him. Upset him more each day as he gazed out the castle windows into the dark forest and imagined you running around somewhere, singing and dancing and playing with the creatures he had yet to be accustomed to.

His magic, quick and seamless, cleared the branches that masked the road to the great oak. Birds chirped above his head. This walk would surely be relaxing, if he wasn’t so excited to see you. He had brought you another gift. Another book. You had taken a liking to his literature, though you admitted to him that you had never read anything that was not a transcript or some old prayer. You loved fantasy. You loved seeing how true or false it was. How many misconceptions about nymphs resided in heads of foolish writers? Plenty, as it seemed, and you were quick to point out faults and laugh at them. Your wit and humour nearly matched his. He once jokingly asked you if you had ever left this maze of a forest. You had told him that yes, but it had been so long since sunlight directly hit your face that you had forgotten that path entirely. He offered to walk you around town. You refused, stating that you could not return home if you were to leave.

Some of your sayings and jokes were oddly ominous. He did not mind it though. It was a needed change from the polite, though fearful, stares he received at the castle or the bubbly chatter that women around him liked to engage. No, you were different. A nymph…A  _nymph_ …He could not trust you. How could he? Love was never a foreign concept to you, nor was basic human decency. He had conjured robes for you to dress in, though you did not prefer them, but wore them out of respect. And so, you could share love with a flower or a man or a woman or any other creature and have no faults returning to him with a soft smile on your face and say that you love him, and mean it too.

He thought about you and grew anxious. Impatient. For the life of him, he could not recall you. It frustrated him. Why couldn’t he? He had seen you many times, robed and not (that was not because he wanted to, granted he did not mind). He knew the colour of your hair. The colour of your skin. The striking, nearly blinding, colour of your eyes. But nothing else. The rest was blurry in his mind.

Well, no matter now. He would see you shortly and he would drink in your features to never forget them again.

Once he reached the great oak he stopped to stare. He always did. It was only natural; anyone would if they somehow managed to get through the dizzying scents and confusing surroundings. He felt unbelievably small here. But content. For once… at peace.

He called out your name, it tasting sweet on the tip of his tongue. A few birds scattered and a bright blue butterfly flapped its wings next to his shoulder. You were nowhere in sight. Perhaps you were sleeping, or hiding, playing a game or up to something mischievous. He grinned. He called out again, and this time his smile only widened when your voice reached him.

“Nymphs…”

It sounded strange, as if it was coming from somewhere above him, and when he looked up only the branches of the great oak were there to greet him. Still no you in sight.

“…How peculiar, no? Greek myths are  _fascinating_.”

He froze. The whole forest did, with him. The butterfly that wanted to rest on his hair promptly turned to stone and as he turned to stare at it his cheek grazed its wing.  _Of course_ , how could he be so foolish, there are no nymphs in Asgard, and—

 _And_ —

His eyes widened.

Wasn’t…Asgard destroyed?

A strange sensation, suction almost, took hold of him and his whole body went in shivers as if he could shake it off. The forest started to spin, and closing his eyes he cursed again and again until—

_Beep….beep…beep…_

Slowly, his eyes open and he is greeted with plain white walls and an empty ceiling. Machinery hooked to his body, monitoring his every move. A strong stench of medicine and cleaning detergent. Soft sheets, comfortable pillows and a…  _headache_. With a groan he closes his eyes for a second to put two and two together. Where is he? Is he in  _Midgard_? This certainly looks like Midgard from what he could gather—

“Oh shit.” A familiar voice says, followed by a soft thud, as if that someone snapped a book shut. He heard shuffle, but feeling oddly tired he refrains from opening his eyes up again, “You’re awake!” He recognizes the slight tilt, one of excitement, in her voice and his heart spurs erratically in his chest from surprise. It gives him energy, somehow, and with little effort he snaps his eyes, only to see—

 _You_.

A lovely smile blooms on your lips as you carefully check his vitals on the monitor before your attention comes back to him, “ _Hi_.” You greet slowly, “ _Hi_ , there’s no need to panic.” You reassure him, mistaking his shock for fear, “I’m (Name) (Lastname).” Your smile falls a bit, “Your assigned nurse.” You add softer. Your form falls out of shape into a diluted blur that makes his head spin and a sharp ring to echo in his ears,

“It’s June 2nd.  _10am_. You’re in the  _Metro-General Hospital_.”


	2. prince loki and strange circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! just want to add a quick note saying thank you for the reads and kudos! hope you like this chapter. i've been reading a lot of fanfiction in my spare time and i'm definitely more inspired! feedback is always appreciated xoxo

Your patient is quiet, naturally, anyone that woke up from such a long dream would be fazed from the information you provided, albeit gently. You see no panic in his eyes, only a mixture of confusion and curiosity, and you smile lovingly in hopes that that would ease him further. It does not. You take his silence as acceptance to the situation at hand, and slowly, careful not to startle him, you lean in and press the button on the machinery he’s hooked on, “Patient 089 is awake. Fully aware. No apparent brain damage. Please send in a doctor.” You speak all of this gently into a small speaker before your finger leaves the button and your divine attention is back on him. You pretend that he didn’t hear anything you said. He most certainly did, but possibly he doesn’t care because he strains his neck to get a glimpse at another patient lying just behind you.

Room 080 is small. Tugged away in the very end of the hospital, in the quiet area where very rarely do medical staff scream and rush someone to the ER. _Cozy_ _is the word for it_ , you think. The outskirts of New York City, grey but strangely not irritating, lay behind the window. A few pigeons had gathered near and are speaking in their strange language. Drops of rain dot the surface of the cool glass. It goes along with the melodic beeping of machinery.

You inhale a deep breath, mostly to calm your nerves, and finally pull away from 089 to give him some personal space you sure he is craving. You sidestep, noting his curiosity, and give him full view of the person he had been sharing a room with since April. An old lady, with hair white as snow, silently stares at the book you had been reading to her before 089 woke up. With a sweet smile on her face her old fingers trace the cover of the worn out book. You needn’t turn to her to know she’s doing this. She always does this.

This room also goes by a different name. _Sinclair_. The granny you read to everyday had been in this room since you first started out, which was quite some time ago. She greeted you enthusiastically. She had been a professor. She introduced herself as Sinclair. No first name. No last one, either. You later came to find out that Sinclair was her mother’s maiden name. She also sometimes went by Woman of Wonder.

“The doctor will be here soon.” You chirp, catching the male’s attention, “But before that…” You yank the chair away from Sinclair’s bed and plop down onto it gracefully, an action you have done more than once or twice in your years of working here. You pull out a medical sheet and a pen, smiling up at him, “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a few questions?” Silence. You take that as a _no_ , but it is quite concerning. Perhaps there is some damage after all?’ “Well, alright.” You click your pen, “Let’s start out with something easy. What is your name?”

Irritation. It is clearly present on his pale face as his brows knit together and a fire dances in his cold green eyes. He regards you up and down, as if to see if you are worthy for an answer, “I am Loki—“ His voice is low and commanding; the voice of a high-ranking military officer, “son of Od—“

He must’ve read your expression because he suddenly falls quiet. Even after all these years you can’t quite control it. _Heartache_. _Oh_ , how you feel for these delusional patients of yours. Despite him clearly seeing that you do not believe him, you nod and scribble something on his sheet with a hum, ticking some disease as nonchalantly as possible in hopes to not frighten him or make him feel unsafe.

“ _Ah_ , I see we have the Prince of Mischief staying at our hospital.” The way you talk to him makes him feel like a child. Careful. Sweet. A bit high-pitched. He hates it, “It is an honour.” Even if he assumes you are mocking him there is no mockery in your voice. Just worry. _Pity_. What a disgusting sound.

With a soft knock the door opens behind you and he hears you sigh in relief, mumbling something about being right back. A nameless, bland appearing man with a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck motions for you to follow him into the hallway, which you quickly do. The door is left ajar and Loki manages to catch bits and pieces of the conversation.

_“He thinks he’s Prince Loki—“_

_“—Ah, brain damage—“_

_“-Might be amnesia—“_

_“—chances…recovery—more tests—“_

Well, no matter now. He is hardly concerned with anyone in this hospital. Perhaps the situation is a bit unnerving. He cannot recall anything that had happened before he woke up. Just all those fake memories he held strangely dear to his heart. He now realises they were all created with the help of the book that old hag holds between her fingers so tightly. A _mirage_. An _illusion_. The trickster has been tricked. It is a blow to his pride, but he will recover and rain hell on the one (or ones) that put him in this situation in the first place. All he needs is to use his magic. Possibly take the whole hospital hostage and figure out what is going on.

He tries to get up but promptly falls back into the comfortable sheets with a quiet groan. His whole left side contorts into such sharp pain he sees new colours dance across the room.

“That’s unlucky.” His roommate comments.

He gives her a look, “ _What_?”

She slowly turns to him, “You woke up. I like being alone. Now you’re sick. They can’t move you.” She sounds disappointed, but not nearly as disappointed as he is, “Now I’m stuck with you.”

“I’ll have you know—“

“Oh!” You promptly return with the doctor, a huge smile on your face, “I see you two are getting along! That’s great!” You fail to sense the obvious tension and distain hanging in the air. You turn to Loki, “I leave you to your Doctor, now.” Your attention returns to Sinclair, “Mrs, how about we take a stroll to Doctor Anderson? I do think it’s time for your daily check-up.”

Loki cannot believe the absolute _buffoonery_ he is witnessing. _Mortals_ , he thinks and shakes his head. _Enough of this, time to get out and--_

His fingers glide elegantly by his side, but nothing happens. No spark. No surge of power. Not even a tingle. He tries again, growing visibly frustrated even if he is casting silently and unbeknownst to the staff and that Sinclair. He tries again. And again. And again. Nothing, Zip. Nada.

And as if Thor’s lightning struck him he realises why he felt so odd once he awoke. There was no warmth within him. No usual power flowing in his blood.

Whatever happened, it was so big it took away his magic. And possibly a few bones from his ribcage too.


	3. it only gets stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! quick note! thank you for all the reads & comments & kudos <3 seriously!!!  
> also, in this chapter i refer to the events that took place during thefirst avangers movie + i made up some staff names   
> hope you enjoy <3!

“You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Heat rises to your cheeks in sudden embarrassment. The coffee mug – smouldering hot and leaving a trail of spiralling fumes behind - promptly stops on its way to your lips, and you lower it onto his desk. Stephen’s words can hardly be interpreted as a question – it is more of a statement – and despite he regarding you with the same look one would give to a child caught doing mischief, he isn’t patronizing you. Just pointing out the obvious in a way good friends do. The corners of his lips quirk upwards, but barely.

You close your eyes and release a heavy sigh. Behind the door of his office a few nurses scurry by, whispering something harshly, “ _Damn_ , I…I’m _really_ _sorry_ , Stephen.” You say, meaning it whole heartedly. “Annie asked if I could cover her, and I said yes, and you know I hardly keep track of my schedule and—“ By this point you are rambling, throwing in every excuse in the book because you genuinely forgot. This would all be meaningless if it was the first time it has happened.

Quite frankly you forgot how many times you found yourself in a similar position. The hospital staff rarely has days off, but when those scarce occasions come by you all meet up at a bar and unwind, have some fun, discuss other interests and hobbies outside of work. You have only been in _one_ of these outings in your years working here, and quite frankly there had been quite a few you have missed.

Nevertheless, Stephen can hardly blame you, “It’s fine,” He says casually, enjoying the coffee you had made for him, while your cup still lies untouched, “now I have a valid excuse not to go.”

You smile at him weakly, “ _Aw_ , c’mon, don’t be like that. Johnson and Leener will be devastated.”

“Good.”

You chuckle lightly. A pleasant silence settles between you two and neither of you have the courage to break it. You had first met Stephen when you finished Med School. The two of you did not start out as friends – frankly, he considered you insufferably soft and emphatic, too weak and frightened to comprehend the fact that people _will die_ on your watch, and sometimes, on very bad nights, often. He was your polar opposite. But magically, after a few years of working side by side you had grown on him, and he too was now your favourite companion. Granted, after his accident he changed drastically, and visited the hospital rarely so you could only converse with him so much before having to say goodbye. Outside work hours he was impossibly difficult to reach.

What a shame, you had been looking forward to having a few drinks with him and your fellow colleagues…Oh, you and your stupid head…

“Any new interesting cases?” He asks out of the blue, and you blink sheepishly as if snapped out a trance. You hum. Your eyes wander around his office as your mind retreats to replay the events of the day.

“ _Oh_!” You start pleasantly, “Sinclair’s roomie finally woke up.” Your tone hardens, “ _Though_...I’m afraid we have another Superhero on our hands.”

His expression suddenly shifts from boredom to interest in an uncharacteristically short period of time. He leans in softly, his head curiously tilted ever so slightly as he watches you. You find it a bit alarming, but say nothing of it. He seems tired. Perhaps he is looking for a distraction. Over all of the years that you have known Stephen, he seems most moody when he is stressed.

“ _Oh_?” Is his single, dull inquiry. You nod. “Let me guess…” He leans back into his eat, as nonchalant as he was before, “Iron Man? Captain America? Darede—“

“No, actually.” You cut him off, “ _No_.” You take a sip of your drink. Its warm taste soothes you, “He introduced himself as… _Loki_.” You glance down, “Poor bastard…I can only imagine what kind of torment he is going through in that head of his if he thinks he’s a…” Words fail on you and you trail off. Stephen thinks for a moment.

“Prince Loki himself, huh…?” He adds, quietly. “Do you think they did the right thing?” You perk up at his question, confused, “By destroying every trace of him in the media. Deleting his face from the archives in hopes that the people will simply…forget him.”

“I remember seeing it on the news.” You say, your voice sounding somewhat hollow, “I had just started Med School…Thought the world will end before I have a chance to get my degree. All that hard work…for nothing.” You smile sadly, “I think being forgotten is worse than being dead. In this case, the Prince of Mischief is both of those things…Maybe it’s for the better.”

“You don’t sound awfully convinced.”

“You know me, Stephen…I am hopelessly optimistic, even in the face of evil.” You sigh, “Well, anyway,” You revert back to the previous subject, “So far _our_ Loki is doing alright. He seems to be getting along with Sinclair. I hope he recovers soon, though…” You mumble into your drink.

“Which room is he in, again?”

You pause. “Stephen,” You suddenly address him seriously, setting your cooled mug down onto his table, “I know that look. Don’t even try it. Andrews will yell at me if he finds out I disclosed patient’s information to you.” You fall quiet, “ _Again_.” You add bitterly.

“I was merely curious. I wasn’t planning on switching patients.”

“It’s just another case of post-coma amnesia.” You explain, “Nothing to be curious about.” Sensing that you will not be convinced, Stephen nods, but only after a moment of consideration. Another silence fills the air, this time with a trace of awkwardness. Clearing your throat you glance at the time. Relief washes over you – a chance to escape! Trying not to seem overly enthusiastic, you stand up; gather your things, and say, “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Have a few beers for me, will you? And try to have fun.”

He gives you a tired, albeit pleasant, smile, “(Name)… _I’m_ – _not_ – _going_.”

* * *

 

Loki sighs tiredly and stares into the depths of the white ceiling as if he could burn a hole into it and see the black night sky. The beeping is annoying. Not as annoying as Sinclair snoring, however, and if he had as little self-control as Thor he would have already snapped. _Snapped_? Who is he trying to fool! He can hardly move without feeling sore or pained, and with his magic mysteriously gone he has absolutely nothing but his charm and wit. Which, if used correctly, will aid him greatly in his plan on getting the hell out of this damned hospital and find out what had happened to him.

He is tired, though not enough to fall asleep. He would be lying if he said that he is not worried. He is, and terribly so. Never will he admit such a thing, but his bones quiver helplessly as he lies on the bed. Silently, he wishes to slip away again. Into that colourful dream world, Asgard, the coma-induced state of absolute bliss and forest nymphs that sing and dance and smile so lovely that he cannot help but be smitten. He curses at himself for thinking in such a way. What a terrible show of weakness, no wonder _you_ pity him.

Ah, _you_. You you you. As a nymph and as a human you haunt his mind. He feels oddly eager to see you again, fully this time, and never forget how you look like again. Although it is irritating that his knowledge of you has been entirely constructed with the help of Sinclair’s book, he does not feel like much has changed (besides the obvious). You still look just as beautiful as you looked in his mind, perhaps even more so. There are no flowers or trees or gentle sunrays to illuminate your form, just plain hospital walls, but they suit you. You belong here. He, now, cannot imagine you in any different way or setting. Alas, his memories of the nymph fade into a distant pleasant dream.

The Hospital is eerily silent at nigh time, and so he hears quick footsteps clearer than he normally would. Before long, the door opens and you enter. His hearts makes a strange, uncoordinated jump that the monitor catches, but you do not. Your eyes meet and you give him a bleak smile. He, however, does not return one back. You seem tired. Distracted. Upset, even, and he is a bit curious as to why. He watches as you stride to put away your things on a nearby counter, send a glance to the sleeping Sinclair, sigh softly and mutter something under your breath. Finally, as if you needed a moment to compose yourself, you turn to him with the same sunny smile you always wear.

“Can’t fall asleep?” You ask quietly, afraid to wake his roommate. He says nothing. You suppose your question is quite silly. Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean onto the counter, “You know, you can always press that button and call for me if you need anything. I’ll be making rounds so I won’t be always able to stay and chat for long.” You explain gently. Again, he does not like your tone and it shows on his face. You ponder about giving up. Clearly he does not want to talk to you. “Well then, I guess I’ll—“

“When can I leave?”

The question catches you off guard and you blink stupidly at him, “W-When your doctor says you can.” You bite your lip in thought, “Though, I did read your file and…My best guess is you’ll be good as new in a few weeks, Loki.” That is a lie and he sees right through it. You and your team had no intention of letting him go until he ‘remembers’ who he really is, which, as in Sinclair’s case, may take _years_. The thought sparks anger in his chest, but he swallows it down.

“You’re an awful liar, you know that?” Despite his best attempts to not let his temper slip, it still does. Your face falls slightly, but you bounce back quickly.

“I do.” You nod in agreement, “I hate lies and I hate lying. That’s why I’m a nurse, not a doctor.”

“Or a lawyer.” He says bitterly. Much to his surprise, you chuckle.

“Or that.” You nod, “What about you?”

“Me? Lawyer or liar?”

“Is there a difference?”

“No, I suppose not.” Loki says dully, but does not answer your question. You assume he does not remember. Instead, he says, “I saw you…” His eyes meet yours, “In my dream.”

“Was it a pleasant dream?” You inquire gently.

He looks away from you; his eyes trail the room before stopping by the window and its closed curtains, “Yes.” He admits and your heart pangs painfully, “Better than…” His eyes scan the room again, “ _This_ …” He says offhandedly. His voice never charges with emotion, but you can tell that he is conflicted. He sighs quietly, his attention drawn to you once more, “You were reading a lot. Poetry, I believe.” Under the bleak lights he sees you blush lightly.

“You must’ve heard me citing it to Sinclair…” You wonder aloud, and then smile sheepishly, “I hope it wasn’t irritating.”

“Anything but.” He is quick to reply.

The conversation comes to a standstill, but neither of you are bothered. Albeit saddened by his condition, you are left pleased. A normal conversation. You could get used to this.  Granted, if he does not get better you _will have to get used to this_. You wonder if he has a family. No one has come to visit him since he was brought here. You wonder what his real name is. No way is it Loki. You wonder what he likes doing in his free time. Certainly there are no plans of world domination marked in his calendar.

You are quite curious, but you refrain from asking anything. You do not want to overwhelm him. That would help no one. Finally, you spring into step and wish him goodnight, promising to visit him later and remind him that if he needs anything he can always call you. A silent nod is his answer. You leave without another word.

Loki watches the door close in satisfaction. Manipulating you will be quite easy. He will be out of this hell hole in no time.


	4. he loves you

The lack of your presence is almost insufferable. The temperature keeps getting warmer and this small room keeps getting hotter and the fact that Loki is stuck with that Sinclair woman only makes him angrier. Since the cooling in this hospital is cheap, the windows are open and the stench of polluted air and loud, annoying honking of cars leaks into this supposed sanctuary for the sick and wounded. He hates Earth, and as minutes tick by he hates it even more. It gets increasingly difficult for him to calm down; he is unruly and chaotic and his mind races faster than he can keep up. Days pass and still no bright eyed you. A different nurse had taken your place and she entertains Sinclair much more than she entertains him. Perhaps it is the menacing looks he shoots her way that frightens her. Where _are_ you? At least you made this Earth prison somewhat bearable, even if for a bit.

When the door opens one morning he is fully prepared to sneer at the unfamiliar nurse, but he promptly falls still once he recognises your face. He takes in a sharp breath. It feels as if it is the first real breath he had taken in a while.

“Hello, you two.” You greet cheerily, oblivious to his surprise. Sinclair simply nods hello and continues reading her book. Loki stares at you for longer than normal, and once your eyes meet his deep green ones he glances away, “I hope you’ve been behaving.” Though your words are playful and you are speaking to both of them, he feels that you are mainly addressing him. Your replacement must have bawled her eyes out to the rest of the staff that he hates her. Which he, make no mistake, certainly does, “So, how are we feeling?” You ask with a smile. Sinclair says nothing, but you most likely expected as much because you do not seem fazed. Instead your attention is drawn onto him again, your smile softening just a bit once you meet his gaze again, “Prince Loki?” You inquire. He scoffs.

“Don’t mock me.”

You hum, “As lively as ever, I see.” Something shimmers in your eye – mischief, he realises, and has to control his grin – as you double check the paper in your hands as you approach him, much more casual than you did last week, “Your doctor thinks,” You start, “that it’s time you had some exercise.” You grin cheekily, “How do you feel about a walk? You haven’t seen the Hospital yet. It’s nothing impressive, really, but it’s better than being cooped up in this room.” He stares at you, saying nothing, “ _Well_?” Your brows twitch ever so lightly in confusion. _Ah_ , you most definitely heard about how he hates Sinclair and, well, everyone else from the other nurse.

“Am I.,.” He starts slowly, unsure how to process this. Your intentions seem pure, but you could be lying. His eyes narrow, “Am I free to move around?”

The questions takes you aback, “Of…of course you are, why wouldn’t you be?”

He rolls his eyes and his head hits the soft pillow, “ _Oh_ , I don’t know, let me think…How about the stabbing pain in my left side?”

“Your what side?”

“My left side.”

“I heard you, just…” He can hear panic rise in your voice as alarmed you check the monitor, “that isn’t supposed to happen. A little sore, _yes_ , but no stabbing pains or throbbing or… _anything_ —“You snap at him, “ _I don’t understand_.” Your eyes roam his face in search for a lie, “You passed all of your tests and there wasn’t even a _scratch_ on you when we found you…” You mumble, more to yourself than him, “How long have you been unable to move?”

“Since I woke up—“

 _“-And you didn’t say anything_?” Your voice is filled with frustration and it clearly shows on your face. You almost remind him of a child unable to distinguish anger from fear. You also remind him a little bit of himself when he is unable to get what he wants.

“ _I_ …” Loki starts quietly, gently, “I thought it would go away.” He finishes. Emotions seep into his voice. Your face falls and your shoulders slump. You are simply too easy to fool.

“I’m sorry.” You say, meaning it, “But you have to tell us everything. If we don’t know how you feel, how can we help you, Loki?” You crack a small smile, “Promise to tell next time, okay? These machines can only do so much…” He nods stiffly. “Alright, I’ll go get the doctor—“

“ _Wait_.”

It all happens in a moment. A sudden wave of dread washes over him – he does not want you to leave, not even for a minute. His hand shoots up and locks around your wrist to keep you in place. He winces lightly from the pain, but does not budge. He can hardly understand what he did. So can you. Your skin is unbelievably warm under his cold fingers, almost like fire.

For the first time since you’ve laid your eyes on Loki you see his mask slip. Loneliness. It’s loneliness you see in his eyes and it breaks your heart. With a gentle smile your hand lands on his and you squeeze gently, a silent promise not to leave. Outside the window sunshine peeks through the clouds and dyes the grey city in colour. Some specs of light play on his pale cheeks. You would’ve awed if you weren’t so worried about his health or how cold his hand is. He eases up. Reluctantly, his grip loosens and the two of you part, unable to lock eyes again. You take a seat next to his bed on a nearby stool whilst making a mental note to tell doctor Davidson all about his condition.

_Loki…Oh, Loki, what happened to you?_

“Do you like to read?” You suddenly ask the silent prince. “Cause if you do I could bring you some books. Would be a nice way to spend time.”

He hums, “Back home…All I ever did was read. That and…prank my brother.”

“What tricks did you pull?”

“Ah, well, once when we were kids I turned into a snake. He loves snakes, you see, so he picked me up to admire it and then I turned back into human and stabbed him.” He grins brilliantly, “And all sorts of mischief like that.”

“Seems like you and your brother are close.”

“I tried to kill him. On multiple occasions.”

“I don’t blame you. I have a few younger sisters and honestly, sometimes I want to kill them too.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Well… _No_.”

“You should.” He insists with a smile, “It’s very therapeutic.”

You nod, “I will keep that in mind.”

You have come to the conclusion that a smile suits him much better than a frown.

The pleasant conversation was interrupted by another nurse entering the room and motioning for you to go with her. With a soft smile you excused yourself, briskly walking out the door with her. Loki watched you retreat before his eyes caught Sinclair peering at him with those beady little eyes of hers.

“How long have you been watching?” He asks, irritated.

“I saw everything.” She states blankly, “Getting a bit handsy there, _Prince Charming_. I advise you to back off before you ruin a perfectly fine nurse.”

* * *

 

The night is stormy and the power went out a few times before it flickered back on again. Sitting cooped up in your small apartment you listen to the wind howl outside the window, catching an occasional lightning bolt splitting the sky in half and glowing violently. The warm cup of tea is to calm you down before bed. You aren’t all that scared of storms, but the loud thunder and the constant rattling unnerves you. Nestled in your sheets you watch the outside world with a wistful look on your face, remise the events of today. Loki seems to tolerate you more than others. The thought makes you just a tad happier.

The doorbell blares and you nearly fall of your bed in fright. Grabbing your phone you check the time – _1am_? – before you glance at your bedroom door. Should you open it? Rain knocks on the glass as all falls quiet for a moment. Again, the doorbell rings impatiently. Maybe it’s the neighbour? Who could be bothering you at this hour? You live in a relatively safe neighbourhood, but still… Despite the warning signs you remind yourself that you are an _adult_ and muster up the courage to leave the safe haven of your bedroom. The cold floor cools your feet. Before long you are unlocking the door with a rapidly beating heart only to find—

“… _Stephen_?” You utter in surprise, taking in his dishevelled, rain kissed form. He stares at you; his breath harshly falls from his lips as if he had ran here all the way from…where ever he lives. “ _Oh God_.” You only now realise, “Come inside, hurry! You must be freezing…!” You usher him in, but he doesn’t move.

“Sorry _, I_ …” He starts, his voice raspy, but you manage to catch it over the thunder and the patter of rain, “I just…” he closes his eyes, “I just…wanted to tell you to be careful.”

“ _What_?”

“Especially in the upcoming days.” He steps closer, the cold radiating from him and making a chill creep up your spine, “If anything happens, _anything at all_ , come to 177A. Bleecker Street.”

“Couldn’t… couldn’t you just have called?” You ask concerned. He is acting strange again and it unnerves you. You hate seeing him like this. He shakes his head.

“I needed to make sure that you’re…” He looks you up and down but his gaze lingers on your lips for only a moment, “ _okay_.” He finishes with a low breath.  With that he pulls back, fully intending to leave.

“Stephen.” You call after him with a crooked smile, ”Why don’t you just come inside? I’m not really sure what’s going on, _but_ … It’s late and we can talk this over in the morning. _Please_? Just… _just stay_.”

He says nothing for a long while.

“That wouldn’t be wise.” He finishes heavily, his voice masked with emotion but what kind you can’t pin-point. He gives you a shaky smile, “Goodnight, (Name).”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STRANGE IS WARNING THE READING ABT INFINITY WAR HE SAW THE FUTURE---  
> also, thank you all for the reads, comments, and kudos!! <3


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